


Poetry

by Keiraskinder



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: AU, Fluff, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, OOC, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 08:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19884487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keiraskinder/pseuds/Keiraskinder
Summary: OOC.  Silly. Boris is insecure, but Valery loves him anyway.AU. Chernobyl HBO setting but there is no mention of radiation or tragedy.





	Poetry

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Поэзия](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20412265) by [Lyna_SH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyna_SH/pseuds/Lyna_SH)



> This is not about real people.  
> I own nothing.  
> Please do not repost.  
> Not a native speaker.  
> Unbetaed.

It’s not working, Boris thinks grimly.

Valery is at the table, working at his notes, as always. Calculating something, crossing some things out, writing again. 

Boris is watching. And thinking.

Yes, he has tried it all. He has been crawling out of his skin to please Valery. He's got him five thousand tons of sand and boron. A lunar rover, for God’s sake! Does the man think lunar rovers grow on trees?!

This is his last attempt to win Valery’s heart, he promises himself. If this doesn’t work either – he will quit pursuing Valery. For real this time.

To be honest, Boris understands that he is not good enough for Valery. But then who is? Valery is an academician! Grades, honors, books published. He speaks four languages! Four bloody languages! The only phrase Boris vaguely remembers from his school course of French is, “Quelle heure est-il ”. It means, “Nice to meet you”.

So, Valery: intelligent and sophisticated man. You need a specific approach to someone like that. Lunar rover didn’t work – well, maybe Valery likes art?.. Those egg-headed geniuses, they usually are into fine arts and all that.

Boris would love to take Valery to Bolshoi Theater. The best cognac in Moscow. And the music is just right when you’re listening to it from the buffet: not too loud. Also, from the buffet you don’t get to see those _tights_ that the male dancers wear. And those are a disgrace, Boris is always blushing whenever he sees ballet tights or even thinks of them.

However, there is no Bolshoi in Pripyat, and Boris decided to go for poetry. Not that Boris is well-educated in the field. The only poem he knows by heart is “Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow, and everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go”. Not exactly the right choice for wooing someone. So, he went to this public library and nicked a small Shakespeare book from there.

That Shakespeare chap appeared to be cool, Boris discovered with surprise. Not boring at all. So, he memorized few lines in his desperate attempt to impress Valery.

\- Do you like poetry?

Valery is a little shocked. No, not a little. A lot. He nearly falls off his chair.

\- What?  
\- Poetry, - Boris explains. – You know, rhymes. Mary had a little lamb and all that.  
\- Err… I don’t even know… Why?..

Boris noticed that when they recite poetry on the radio, they usually kinda _wail_ for some reason. Maybe that’s the only right way to do it, Boris doesn’t know. But when he was rehearsing his lines in his hotel room the previous night, neighbors started knocking on his walls. They obviously didn’t appreciate the _wailing_ manner. And to be honest, it did sound rather scary even to his own ears. So, he decided to go for his regular voice.  
__  
- _In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,_  
_For they in thee a thousand errors note;_  
_But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,_  
_Who in despite of view is pleased to dote._ *

A pause.

Valery is looking at him, shocked to say the least. 

\- Who wrote this? – he asks.

Boris wants very much to say that he wrote it himself, for Valery. But no.

\- I… I mean, some friend of mine. Never mind him.

Another pause. Valery is looking Boris up and down, as if trying to understand something about him.

\- Do you… often do this? - Valery finally asks uncertainly, - What you just did? Recite poems to… people?..

\- Hmm.. Well… From time to time, - Boris says. – What, do you think I am so stupid that I don’t even know any poetry?! – he adds indignantly.

Valery looks at him thoughtfully. Then turns back to his notes.

Boris is devastated. He expected some kind of _reaction_! Well he hoped for at least a little _smile_ from Valery, for God’s sake! Any other man would’ve already said: All right Boris, it’s pretty clear that you are head over heels in love with me, and you know what – I don’t mind! Let’s go at it, right now, on this very table!

But not Valery. Valery is clearly not interested. Period. You are just a pathetic loser, Boris. Deal with it.

\- Imagine meeting a man, - Valery suddenly says in a quiet voice, not looking up at him, - who is so very different from you. Your opposite. He is strong and powerful. He has authority, orders people around…

Boris is confused. What is this about? Valery met some man that he is impressed with. And he wants to share his thoughts with Boris. Well, Boris is not particularly interested in this man, whoever that is, he would prefer to talk about _them_ , Valery and himself. 

\- Whenever he speaks, people listen to him, - Valery goes on. 

_Aha!_ That would be Tarakanov, Boris realizes. Valery is speaking about General Tarakanov. He orders people around, and his soldiers and officers all listen to him. Would be strange if they didn’t, he is their commander.

\- But underneath all that steel cover, - Valery says somewhat dreamily, - he is the most kind and gentle soul on Earth. Heart of gold. Generous, supportive and caring.

Boris nods. Yes, yes, Tarakanov is indeed a very nice chap, kind and generous. He gave Boris this swiss knife as a present. And it wasn’t even Christmas or Boris’ birthday, either. Nice guy, that General.

\- He has his issues of course, - Valery chuckles and shakes his head, - a bit of a temper… Low self-esteem…

What the hell is this low self-esteem that Tarakanov has, Boris wonders. He has definitely heard this expression before, but he forgot what it means… Could it be some stomach disease?.. You know, like low gastric acidity. He remembers Tarakanov complaining to him once about indigestion…  
But why would they discuss Tarakanov’s digestion problems, anyway?! When Boris’ heart is about to break into million pieces?! Great. Just great.

Valery is looking at him expecting some kind of an answer.

\- I see, - Boris says. Even though he doesn’t see at all.

\- You do? – Valery asks, and there’s something akin to hope in his eyes.

He looks at his hands as if bracing himself for something important, and then slowly says looking straight into Boris’ eyes:

\- Well then, it might be of some interest for you to know that I find this man utterly gorgeous. That I can’t breathe whenever he is around. That I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him if he would only allow me close.

WHAT?!

Bloody hell.  
Boris is fucked.  
Valery has just told him that he is in love with Tarakanov. 

Well you wanted a clear answer – here it is, Boris thinks ruefully. Leave him alone. Your attentions are not wanted.

But Tarakanov! That bloody traitor! He stole Valery from Boris, right there, from under his nose!

Boris is boiling with anger. He needs to hit something.

There is usually no sound when you kick a brick wall real hard, so Valery doesn’t notice. However, it’s very, very painful. Boris’ toes hurt like hell, and he is trying his best not to scream. Valery (who has obviously been waiting for some answer) chooses this moment to look up at Boris with shy hope in his eyes. 

And sees Boris’ face contorted with pain. That bloody wall!

Valery’s eyes change, as if something has just died in them. He looks aside.

\- I see. – he whispers in a broken voice. – You are not very happy about this… confession of mine. 

Not happy?! The nerve of the man!

\- HAPPY? – Boris says. – What am I supposed to be happy about, that you are in love with someone else?! Everything you asked for! Everything! I would’ve jumped into the bloody reactor if you told me so! All for you! And I always – ALWAYS! – gave you all my pickles from the cafeteria lunch box!

\- That’s because you don’t like them… - Valery mumbles. 

He looks very much confused.

\- No, that’s because YOU LIKE THEM! – Boris roars. – I learned how the nuclear reactor works! Do you think that was easy? Well think again! I recited the bloody _poetry_ for you, for God’s sake! Is that not enough? And now, you are telling me that you are in love with Tarakanov and expect me to be happy about it?!

\- Wait, - Valery says. – What does General have to do with it?... 

\- Trust me, he will know what to do with it, - Boris says morosely.

That’s enough. He will return to his hotel room and shoot himself. He will leave a short note: DON’T BLAME ANYONE.

Well maybe he will add in small letters: “Except Valery Legasov and his precious General Tarakanov”.

Boris’ imagination provides him with a gloomy image of his future lonely grave. Valery is standing there dressed in black, holding flowers in his hands. His eyes are full of tears. “I didn’t appreciate you when you were still around, Boria”, - Valery whispers. – “And now it’s too late… How could I abandon you for that stupid General, I cannot forgive myself. Who will get me sand and boron and all the liquid nitrogen in the Soviet Union and hundreds of naked miners and the Moon from the sky, now that you are gone?..”

No. It’s all over. But the thing is, Boris doesn’t have a gun, so how will he shoot himself?.. Maybe he could jump out of the window? But then again, his room is on the second floor…

Fuck his life, really.

He would like to tell Valery that his smile is the most beautiful thing ever, and that he would gladly spend the rest of his life trying to make it appear again and again.  
But no. No point now.

\- You have no idea what you mean to me, - Boris says to Valery who is still sitting there gaping at him. – He is so kind and generous, you said. Was I not kind to you, too?..

Valery’s eyes slowly light up and there is a shadow of understanding appearing on his face. 

Boris waves his hand dismissively as if saying “It’s all over” and turns around to leave. 

But he cannot go far for Valery is suddenly _not_ sitting at his desk anymore. No, he is all over Boris, kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him.

\- Wait… - Boris mumbles when he recovers from this sudden attack. He is about to have another attack in a minute – heart attack, that is! – Wait, but what about those things you said… About General…

\- Oh, Boria, - Valery whispers cradling his face in his palms and looking at him with such tenderness that Boris’ heart does a somersault in his chest, – Forget what I said. I am such a fool. I don’t need poetry. I am all yours.

And with that, he kisses him again. By the end of that kiss Boris can hardly remember his own name, let alone this strange conversation.

\--------------------------------------------------

* Sonnet CXLI by William Shakespeare


End file.
